


I Need a Hit, Baby

by dizzzylu



Series: Have You Ever Met a Boy Who Turned Your World Into a Playground [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Edging, Fingerfucking, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, slight D/s undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another wager, another night. (picks up directly after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/239588">First Taste</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need a Hit, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks once again to obstinatrix who was cheerleader, hand-holder, AND beta. Also, thanks to perfumaniac who sort of gave me the idea for the title and is awesome besides (except for when you need help with titles and summaries).

It's weird, waking up with Jared an arm's length away, his face buried in his pillow, quietly snoring. It's not that they don't spend the night at each other's houses. It's more like when they do, they never quite make it to the master bedroom in the first place, and one or the other of them sleeps on the couch or in a guest room.

But last night, Jared had looked far too exhausted to move, doing his best impression of a starfish in the middle of Misha's bed, and there was no way Misha was going to try and carry him anywhere, even if he could get Jared up and moving half on his own.

Besides, Misha's bed is a king and as long as Jared's feet don't hang over the end, well...

A stray shaft of sunlight turns the exposed half of Jared's face pale and his hair golden. His nose twitches and he turns his head to the other side, rearranging all of his limbs and kicking Misha in the knee in the process. The snoring has stopped, though, and Jared makes a quiet smacking sound with his lips. Misha predicts Jared will be awake before long and decides to get his turn in the shower first.

It's not like they passed out without cleaning themselves off first, but there is a dry, scratchy patch of skin on his shoulder that he missed and probably one on his back, if the tight skin over his shoulder blade is any indication (and he takes a moment to once again admire how bendy Jared is).

After he's all cleaned up, he slips on a pair of pajama pants and a v-neck t-shirt; it sticks to the damp skin at the small of his back. Jared is still in the bed, but his head is buried beneath a pile of pillows. Misha smacks him on the ass. With only the sheet between his hand and Jared's skin, the crack is rather loud and Jared jerks up, eyes blurry and hair a mess.

"Rise and shine, Sasquatch!" Misha pitches his voice slightly louder than necessary, but smiles sweetly so Jared can't decide if it's on purpose or not. "Hope you weren't expecting breakfast in bed."

"Time'zzt?" Jared asks around a yawn and rolls over on his back, stretching his arms and legs wide. Through the sheet, Misha can see the shadow of Jared's cock, dark and soft against his thigh. Misha's fingers twitch.

"You turned into a pumpkin about seven hours ago."

Jared laughs, the sound thick and dry in his throat. His hand reaches down for the sheet and adjusts it, covering his legs completely. Misha wonders if it the action is deliberate or instinct. He doesn't like either answer.

"Shower's free, if you want," he says, motioning toward the bathroom. "Towels are in the cabinet. Coffee will be ready for you when you're done and--" Jared's stomach makes a loud gurgling sound that has them both smiling. "I s'pose I can feed you, too. No falling back asleep."

He starts picking up their clothes and hears Jared shifting around in the bed, presumably getting up. Jared has his back to Misha, giving him the freedom to watch Jared waking up in stages; sitting up, smoothing his hair, stretching his arms out over his head, rolling those broad shoulders. The flex and roll of muscle under so much flawless skin is mesmerizing. And Jared walking to the bathroom, bare ass and thighs on display? Well, Misha doesn't like to throw a word like 'perfection' around for just anything. But right now, it might just fit.

: : :

Misha's got half a dozen eggs and several strips of bacon in a skillet when Jared clomps down the stairs, shirtless and his hair slicked back. His t-shirt is hanging over a shoulder and his skin glows from the damp still clinging to it. There's a heavier sheen in the hollow of his throat and Misha thumbs at it as Jared walks past to get himself some coffee. "Feeling ok?"

Jared leans against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles and folds his arms over his chest. Misha takes a moment to appreciate the flexed muscles and sips at his coffee. "Fantastic. My legs still feel a little like jelly, though." He mimes sinking to the floor to prove his point.

Misha doesn't turn away quick enough to hide his smug grin.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get too pleased with yourself, there." Jared approaches Misha from behind and rests a heavy hand on Misha's shoulder. His thumb brushes over the nape; his fingertips press against the collarbone. Jared squeezes once and leans over, sniffing at the food on the stove. His voice is low and hot in Misha's ear when he says, "Gotta keep that head small enough to fit between my legs again." There's a flick to Misha's earlobe and then he walks away.

Misha turns the stove off to serve up the eggs and looks over his shoulder to see Jared thumbing at his phone again. "Starting a new game already?" he asks, setting a heaping plate in front of Jared.

Jared barely gets out, "you up for it, old man?" before he's digging into his food.

Misha hides his proud smirk with his cup of tea. "Gotta set the terms, first."

"I say we parlay from the last game." He looks Misha straight in the eye as he says it, holding himself stock still in the process. Misha admires his determination.

"Think you can top last night?"

Jared lifts a shoulder and finishes chewing his food before he says, "The internet's a font of information. And I'm a quick learner." It's hardly noticeable, but Jared's breathing picks up and his eyes widen, pupils dark. His tongue darts out to lick his lips; Misha watches the wet, pink glide of it.

"The student becomes the master sort of situation?" Misha responds after a moment of internal debate. It's not that he doesn't have faith in himself to win the game again. Or that Jared can't be as creative as he wants to be. It just feels like maybe there's a conversation they should have. There's something building here, something Misha is loath to label, and he's not sure if Jared sees it yet.

"Sure, I guess." Jared bites down on his lip and Misha thinks he must look a little more serious than he intended to.

He relaxes his shoulders and squints a little, hoping he looks equal parts overly intimidating and challenging. "That is, of course, if you win."

Jared rolls his eyes. "Of course."

Misha watches Jared a little longer; he looks nervous but earnest. One of his long legs bounces on the ball of his foot. "Yeah, ok," Misha agrees, nodding at Jared's phone lying on the counter.

Jared smiles wide and starts the game.

: : :

Misha shouldn't be surprised that, after three weeks, Jared ends up winning. They _are_ always trying to one-up each other, and that doesn't get left behind once they're in the bedroom (or their trailers or Jared's pick-up or that one time they ended up in Jensen's bedroom the night of his birthday party).

What he _is_ surprised by is Jared wanting to meet at Misha's house again and bring the dinner himself this time. He arrives in the same pair of jeans but a different v-neck shirt, one of the many dozens he has in a wide array of colors.

"Got Indian this time," he says, holding up the bag. Misha doesn't even have time to get the door closed before Jared is wrapping his free arm around Misha's waist and pulling him in for a kiss. It's wet and demanding, full of sharp teeth and a wicked tongue, and Misha holds onto Jared's biceps as they spin. Vaguely, Misha hears the door close and then his back is flat against it, the wood cool through his button-down.

"Your night hasn't started yet," Misha says, voice rough. He presses his lips together and turns his head to the side, nose bumping against Jared's, to see fading bronze sunlight pouring through the sidelights. It casts interesting shadows across Jared's face and the hollow of his throat when Misha looks back.

"That wasn't part of the bet," Jared explains, voice quiet. He kisses Misha again, slower this time, making a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat as he pulls away. Misha barely has time to register how black Jared's eyes are before he's turned and headed for the kitchen, flip flops slapping loud against the tile. By the time Misha catches up, Jared has two opened beers on the counter and is grabbing plates and silverware from the cabinets.

Misha takes a moment to recognize the familiarity inherent in Jared being comfortable enough to know where these things are as well as not needing to wait or ask to get them, and reflects on the fact that he, too, would do the same thing if they were at Jared's house. Which, considering how little time they spend in their respective kitchens, should be vaguely significant.

But Jared's pulling the food containers out of the bag and giving Misha a weird look, so Misha files that thought away for later.

They eat, they talk. Unlike the last time, Jared's much more relaxed, arms and legs loose and lazy. His smile is easy, his eyes bright, and he keeps running a hand through his hair. Hair that Misha knows the exact softness of. He wants to get up and run his own hands through it, tug Jared's head back and kiss him 'til he can't breathe.

Instead he says, "So what do you plan to do to me in my own house?"

Jared has one hand around a second bottle of beer, his fingers loose. The other taps out a syncopated rhythm on his thigh. "The original bet was one night doing anything I want with you, right?"

Misha nods.

"Well," Jared stretches out the word, adding about seven Ls to the end of it. "I want that. The edging. Again." He ducks his head, which draws his hair forward to hide his face, but not before Misha notices the pinking of his cheeks.

Misha gets up, quiet, and starts cleaning up the dishes. He can feel Jared watching him, but is too busy thinking to meet his eyes.

The first time they did this, it was a whim. Misha noticing that Jared might like to have a little bit of his control taken away from him. Understandable, considering his size and that he's a guy; it's not hard to believe that the people in Jared's life expect him to be able to carry their burdens if and when they need it, both the emotional and the physical.

The sexual, too.

Not that sex is a burden, but looking back at Jared's dating history, they've all been a good foot shorter than he is, making it nearly impossible for them to manhandle Jared in bed. Hair pulling would work, sure, bondage, too, but there's something about being pinned down just with the weight of another body on top of you, or by what they're doing _to_ you that makes the loss of control more thrilling.

It also involves a level of trust with your partner, and Misha can't decide if there was more trust when Jared allowed Misha to do anything he wanted without having any idea what would happen or if there's more trust now, knowing what's ahead. Possibly knowing that Misha will push a little harder this time, now that he has an idea of what Jared can handle and how long he can last.

Misha's drunk on more than just beer as he rounds the corner of the island and works Jared's legs open to stand between them. He fists his hand in Jared's shirt and tugs, forcing Jared to grab onto Misha's hips for balance, and kisses him, rough and dirty, smiling a little at his muffled sound of surprise. It's his job to keep Jared off kilter, not the other way around, and now is as good a time as any to remind them both of that.

Eventually, Jared pulls away to take a breath. "You seem pretty intent on stretching out all of my shirts. Tryin' to tell me something?" Arousal is bringing out his lazy Texan twang; it makes Misha's blood simmer.

"Like you don't have stock in Hanes. C'mon." Misha pulls just once, a signal that Jared should get up and follow. He does.

: : :

Outside, the moon shines full and heavy, casting the room in a bright, silver-blue light. It turns Jared's golden skin pale and creates enticing shadows along his collarbones. Lights, Misha decides, are overrated.

He maneuvers Jared to the end of the bed and pushes him down. Jared bounces once, hands braced behind him. Misha wedges himself between Jared's knees again, the space smaller this time, and runs his hands through Jared's hair like he's been wanting to for most of the night. It's soft and thick and slips easily between his fingers. Jared shivers at the sharp bite of thumbnails over the skin behind his ears.

In the spirit of keeping Jared off-kilter, Misha makes the next kiss soft. Starts by pressing his lips to the corner of Jared's mouth, sucking a little at the upper lip, then moves closer to the middle, sucking on the lower. Keeps this up all the way across, even though Jared's mouth is open, his tongue searching for Misha's.

Because his bed is higher than a standard one, Misha and Jared are just about face to face, which doesn't give Misha much control over what he does or doesn't want Jared to do. He solves this by climbing into Jared's lap, planting a knee on either side of his thighs. This serves two purposes: Misha's higher and can better control Jared by tugging on his hair, and it brings their cocks together, their sensitivity dulled by two layers of denim and cotton.

Jared is already hard though. There's no mistaking that.

Jared's hands rest on Misha's waist, warm through his shirt. The touch is light, hesitant, and Misha pulls away from Jared's mouth long enough to say, "You can touch me anywhere you want. I'll let you know when you go too far."

Before Jared can ask for clarification, Misha is kissing him again, one hand tightly gripping his hair, the other skimming its way up Jared's bicep, seeking out the skin underneath the cotton.

Jared's hands slip under the hem of Misha's shirt, palms flat against his back, and slide up along the spine. The skin is dry and warm, a little rough at the fingertips, and scratches lightly at the more sensitive skin. Misha shivers at the friction and nips at the curve of Jared's grin before moving on.

Distracted by his intention to bite and suck a bruise into the soft skin below Jared's ear, he doesn't notice Jared pushing at his arms, tugging his shirt up, and the quiet, "c'mon Misha, off." Impatient, Misha strips it off and flings it across the room, not caring where it lands. Jared palms Misha's back again, fingers curling over his shoulders to pull him down as Jared rolls his hips up.

"Calm down, cowboy," Misha growls against Jared's neck, biting at the tendon. Jared chuckles.

His hands scrabble down Jared's back, gathering the material in his fists. He manages to get Jared's arms out of the sleeves, but Jared seems reluctant to stop his exploration of Misha's collarbone. On the one hand, Misha has the skin-to-skin contact he wants, but Jared looks ridiculous with the cotton collar around his neck. He grasps a handful of Jared's hair and pulls.

"Nnnngh, what?" Jared's eyes are blurry, his lips slick, and his hand keeps kneading at Misha's hip in the same slow rhythm Misha is using to rock down into Jared.

"Thank you," Misha says, words curt. He yanks the t-shirt off and chuckles at the messy nest of Jared's hair. With gentle fingers, he combs it back and feels the vibration of a purr against his ribs. Misha's collarbone forgotten, Jared tips his head back into the touch, eyes slipping closed. It's then Misha remembers the bruise he'd been working on and leans in to finish it.

Jared wraps his arms around Misha's waist and pulls him in, pressing them flush together. Between them, Misha can feel Jared's cock throb, hard and hot even through two layers of denim. He stops his hips and gentles his lips and teeth, skimming them up Jared's neck to find his mouth again.

"Scoot back," Misha says between soft kisses. He doesn't make it easy for Jared, remains in his lap as much as he can by palming Jared's broad shoulders; then again, making things easy isn't exactly the point. Jared manages it well enough, face flushed from the exertion, and Misha rewards him by grinding down on his cock. His fingers fumble for Jared's buckle, the button-fly. Jared has the same idea, has Misha's jeans down and around his knees before he can work Jared's pants and boxers over the spurs of his hips. It makes trying to strip Jared an ungraceful mess -- Jared even has the balls to laugh when Misha almost face-plants into Jared's groin, but Misha reminds himself he has the upper hand; he doesn't mind dragging things out a little longer.

Naked and knee-walking his way back up the bed, Misha pushes Jared's legs wide, palms flat on his thighs, and lands a bite on the sweat-slick groove of Jared's hip. Jared startles, but can't do much to shield himself, splayed open as he is, so Misha does it again, gentler this time.

Misha feels Jared sigh, his entire body softening and settling into the bed. He glaces up from between Jared's legs and finds him holding onto the headboard again, the same two spindles from before, and grins. "Y'know," he says, nosing at Jared's balls, breathing in the spicy, earthy scent of them, "you don't have to hang on this time." Jared tenses and Misha's grin widens; his tongue darts out to lick his lips and it grazes the sensitive skin of the perineum. "I told you, touch me. I'll tell you when you should stop." He leaves a kiss there, a soft press of lips, something like a promise.

Jared doesn't let go right away. His Adam's apple bobs once, twice. His eyes are closed, too, but Misha's sure Jared can feel the damp, wet heat of Misha's open mouth hovering over the base of his cock, waiting. As soon as Misha sees Jared's fingers loosen, he licks a long, sordid stripe along the length with the flat of his tongue, making sure to suck lightly at the crown.

Jared groans out a, "Jesus _Christ_." One hand stays wrapped around the bed, the other falls heavy on Misha's head and pulls him up.

"I said touch, not manhandle," Misha teases, keeping his mouth just out of reach of Jared's. Laid out like this, with Jared under him, eyes dark and hungry, Misha stretches, relishing in all the skin-to-skin contact. Jared resettles himself, and the movement grinds their cocks together, the tip of Jared's catching under the head of Misha's. It makes him gasp and Jared chuckles, dirty-low; hitches his hips to do it again but meets only air as Misha slides to the side.

"This isn't audience participation time, yet." He kisses and bites his way down the column of Jared's neck, over his Adam's apple; curls his tongue around the knob of it and thinks, maybe, he hears a quiet whine. He presses a grin into the ridge of Jared's collarbone, worries the skin with his teeth. "Patience is its own reward," he says eventually, trailing a line of wet kisses along Jared's sternum.

Jared's voice is rough when he says, "yeah, yeah," his hand falling against the small of Misha's back. It feels wider than it is, like he could span the width of Misha's hips between thumb and pinky. It's warm, too. Solid and grounding.

Misha shifts lower and moves on to Jared's nipples, something he hadn't paid much attention to the first time he did this. He doesn't take the time to wonder why, just traces slick circles around one while thumbing and pinching at the other. Jared's hand slips a little, cupping Misha's hip, and his fingers flex hard against the skin at the bite of teeth, a sharp pinch of fingernails. He's twisting under Misha, trying to turn into each sensation at the same time.

Abruptly, Misha leans up to mouth at the other nipple; tugs at it with his teeth and smiles around it as Jared's back arches and he groans. His free hand falls to Misha's head, using its weight to try and keep Misha in place, but it doesn't take much for the nipple to plump up and Misha moves on. He trails wet, sucking kisses down Jared's stomach, his hip, the flat of his pelvis. Drags his tongue through the cropped-short hair there, scrapes his stubble against Jared's cock. Jared's whole body shudders and his hand slips lower on Misha's back, his thumb clinging to the cleft of Misha's ass, his fingers feeling long and too light against the underside.

Misha sucks at the base of Jared's cock, kisses his way up. The tip is salty-slick with precome and Misha laps at it, the tip of his tongue teasing at the slit to draw out more. Jared's hand clenches, his fingers digging into Misha's ass, and he groans, long and low; his cock twitches.

In one smooth motion, Misha takes Jared in, until his nose bumps against Jared's balls. Above him, Jared yelps and his hand scrabbles against Misha's back, nails scratching dully along his spine. His low. "oh fuck, oh yeah, oh _shit_ " is a harsh contrast to the slick, wet sounds Misha makes bobbing up and down. He keeps it wet and messy and slow, mouth and hand working out of synch with Jared's subtly hitching hips.

Misha is so attuned to what Jared's doing -- the sounds he's making and the constant, restless shift of his hips, the bursts of precome smearing over his tongue -- he doesn't register the loss of Jared's hand on his back until it's wrapped around his cock, palm wet and warm and _tight_. Misha pulls out with a pop and growls out a raspy, " _fuck_ " as Jared jacks him slow; fingers wide and thumb slicking over the leaking slit.

Misha swallows him again and sets the same rhythm Jared does, echoes his movements with his own hand, keeping his fingers tight and his jaw loose. When his hips try to thrust harder, Misha stops them with just a palm on Jared's thigh. It makes Jared grunt in frustration, and his hand speeds up on Misha's cock, the sound of skin-on-skin slick-sticky in the silence of the room.

It's a race to see who can get who to get off first; even though Misha has no intention of letting Jared come anytime soon, Misha still wants him on the brink before he himself comes. But he's thrusting into Jared's hand on his own, moaning around Jared's cock, and the smell of sex and Jared is just enough to push him over. He pulls off, panting, and spills over Jared's hand and hip and thigh.

Steadying himself with one hand between Jared's legs, he looks up at Jared's smug face. His eyes glitter, dark and dangerous, as he licks Misha's come from his fingers, tongue darting over and between until there's nothing left.

"Yeah, ok, hot shot," Misha says, tone ominous. He drags his free hand through what's left on Jared's hip and slicks it along Jared's length. The rhythm is fast, faster than before, sudden, too, and it startles a "Jesus fuck" out of Jared, who is unprepared for the tight drag of lightly-calloused hands, the twist of Misha's wrist, a thumb circling the crown.

Jared flails a hand out and it hits Misha's leg. His fingers close tight around the ankle in a brutal grip, and he's moaning, "Misha, wait, _please_." Body taut, Jared cants his pelvis up, up, and Misha can see his balls tightening.

Just when he's sure Jared's about to lose it, Misha stops. Wraps tight fingers around the base of Jared's cock and pushes him gently back to the bed. Jared is sweaty and gasping, one hand still clenched vise-tight around Misha's ankle, the other white-knuckling the sheets in his fist.

Misha lets go after a moment, loosening Jared's fingers so he can swing one leg over and straddle Jared's stomach. Jared is still trying to catch his breath, face and neck red and splotchy, and his eyes are closed against the strands of sweat-damp hair sticking to his face. Misha pushes it all back with gentle fingers, and slides down, bracing his weight on his elbows, to kiss Jared soft and quiet. Jared twitches when their cocks brush together, but Misha doesn't push it. Not yet.

"You're doing great, Jay," Misha whispers, fingers still combing through the hair above Jared's ear. Jared doesn't open his eyes, but he does smile, a cautious curve of his lips.

Misha doesn't stay there long. He doesn't want Jared to calm down too much, after all, but he also needs time to catch his breath after his orgasm. And to figure out his next move.

Misha works his way back down Jared's body, nipping little kisses into his nipple, his ribs, the groove of his hip, the inside of his thigh. He uses his shoulders to make room between Jared's legs, presses a kiss to the sticky base of his cock before settling on his stomach between Jared's thighs.

The skin here is damp, but softer; the scent of Jared darker and headier, too. Misha licks at the perineum, dragging the flat of his tongue up and along the seam of Jared's balls. Does it again, firmer this time, to distract Jared from the light pressure of his thumbs carefully spreading his cheeks apart. Keeping his tongue soft and wet, Misha licks at Jared's hole; a light teasing touch that has Jared thrusting off the bed and groaning, "Holy _fuck_."

Misha grins as Jared resettles, legs wider. He dips in to do it again, but the angle is awkward and he can't get as close as he'd like. Resting his head against Jared's thigh, his warm breath reflecting off Jared's sweat-slick skin, Misha thinks.

"Oh," he says to himself, surprised and pleased with himself. He props himself up on his elbows, drags his eyes up the long, flawless expanse of Jared's body and grins.

"This isn't going to be good," Jared says, dimples flickering in and out with his timid smile.

"Probably not for you," Misha confirms, tonguing at the head of Jared's cock just to keep him ramped up. "Grab your legs."

"I...what?"

"Grab. Your. Legs." Misha punctuates each of these words by nipping a kiss into Jared's pelvis.

Jared still looks a little confused, but also a lot turned on, so Misha helps him along by sliding one palm under Jared's thigh and pushing it up. It automatically bends at the knee until the heel taps softly against the back of Misha's head. "Hand, please," Misha says, pushing Jared's thigh up until his knee is almost touching his chest.

He grabs for it on instinct, just as Misha lets go, and then the other comes up without any help from Misha at all. The angle still isn't quite right, so Misha rises up on his knees and arranges Jared's hands where he wants them; a little higher on the thigh, tilting his hips up just enough to take the strain off Misha's neck.

"Just a little...pull 'em wider," Misha says, surveying Jared's pose, and he _does_ , without question, his stomach shuddering at the exertion. Jared's obedience makes Misha a little dizzy.

Especially when Jared checks to make sure he's doing it right.

Misha pets Jared's thigh. "Perfect," he sighs. Misha is a staunch believer of rewarding good behavior.

He stretches out on his stomach again and kisses Jared at the top of his thigh. The skin is sweat-salty and slick, soft and taut. Misha can feel the straining trembling vibrating against his lips already, and he grins.

Even though the angle isn't all that different, it's just enough to make it easy for Misha to lick a wet, sloppy line from Jared's hole all the way to his balls. Jared's legs buck at the touch, and he makes a thick, pleased sound low in his throat. Misha does it again, teasing lightly against the rim before moving on.

Palming the firm curves of Jared's ass, Misha spreads him open and leans in, teasing him by alternating broad strokes and feather-light flutters. Jared tries to clamp down on Misha's tongue as he works his way inside, and Misha feels the strain of the muscles against his palms, can hear the filthy, gasping words spilling from Jared's mouth.

Misha peers up at Jared through the vee of his legs and sees the mess of precome smeared across his stomach. He sits up and drags his fingers through it, trailing one finger along the vein of Jared's cock, over his balls, scratches lightly at the perineum with the nail, and follows down even further. Draws tight circles around Jared, who starts rotating his own hips to try and draw Misha inside. But Misha's finger, unfortunately, is mostly dry and that's not pleasant for either of them.

"Don't move," he says, slapping Jared on his upturned ass and crawling up the bed to reach the nightstand. He has to lean over Jared to do it, and Jared takes advantage by snapping his teeth at Misha's hip, the swell of his ass. With the lube and a condom in one hand, Misha fists the other in Jared's hair, keeping him in place so he can suck a bruise into Misha's skin. Jared's good at it, too good, and there's already a pleasant ache there as Misha makes his way down the bed.

Jared, to his credit, hasn't moved otherwise. His knuckles are white, hands gripping tight to his thighs, and his legs are splayed wide; obscenely so. Misha rewards him by gripping his cock with one lubed hand and strokes him twice, nice and slow. Jared whimpers.

Misha trails slick fingers lower, lower, circling tight and wet around Jared's hole. The first finger sinks in easily, almost too easily, so Misha immediately adds a second. The fit is more snug, Jared a grasping, silken heat around him.

He starts off wickedly slow, crooking his fingers against the drag, and cups his free hand over Jared's knee, giving him a small amount of support. Jared clenches hard, unwilling to let Misha slide all the way out and back in again, but Misha is in charge, and he'll do what he wants, no matter how desperate and needy Jared sounds.

When it gets too easy for two fingers, he adds a third, and strokes the pad of his thumb over the stretched skin. Jared's panting, broken little moans that bleed into a whine when Misha hits his prostrate. It's never intentional, which makes each pass a surprise for Jared, the jolt zipping up his spine and out through his trembling limbs.

Without speeding up, Misha starts twisting his wrist, deliberately searching, and finds it; presses down hard once and Jared shudders so hard, his fingers slip over sweat-sheened skin and his knee almost clips Misha on the chin.

"Sorry, sorry," Jared wheezes, reaching for his leg like he's not the one at Misha's mercy here. Like he's going to get a demerit for not being able to stay how Misha wants him. The thought of it makes Misha's breath catch.

He needs to pay attention, though. To the arch of Jared's back, the strain in his thighs, the trembling of his stomach. There's a mess of precome in his belly button from his cock; the tip of it glistens, fat and wet, in the moonlight. He's whispering, too; the only words Misha can make out are _fuck_ and _please_ and _Misha_. His eyelashes flutter, whisper-soft smudges against sharp cheekbones.

Misha can see it in the crease of his brow, the glint of teeth on his lip, that Jared is almost there, wound tight and about to break. Careful to stroke against the prostate, he pulls his fingers out, and Jared sobs, hips pushing out, searching for more. Misha reaches for the condom and slips it on quickly. He's hard again, hot and throbbing, and he needs Jared's heat around him, needs to be in him, _with_ him, in this final push.

Wrapping a hand around each of Jared's wrists, Misha gently pries them away and fits a shoulder underneath each knee. Carefully, slowly, he positions the head of his cock against Jared and slides in, in one smooth glide. Jared is holding his breath, eyes closed tight as Misha grazes his cock. Once he's fully inside, pelvis tight against Jared's hips, Misha freezes, his weight braced on his hands planted on the bed, one on either side of Jared's chest.

"Jared," Misha whispers, voices rougher than he expected. "Hold on just a little bit longer, ok?"

After one deep breath, then another, Jared manages a stiff jerk of his head. "Yeah. I'm-- yeah." He swallows.

Misha doesn't move at first, wants to relish the tight clutch of Jared around him, his ragged breathing, the fine trembling of his body. Jared's hands reach up for the headboard, wrapping tight around the spindles, and Misha leans down to kiss him on his chin, his jaw, the side of his neck. The movement causes Misha's stomach to drag against Jared's cock, and he feels the blurt of precome against his belly; smiles at Jared's choked sob.

"God Jared," Misha sighs, reverent, his gaze focused on the ticing muscles of Jared's jaw. He looks unreal like this; the tight furrow of his brow, his parted lips dry and soft and kiss-bitten, the sweat gathering at his temples. Misha even thinks he can see the dull thudding of Jared's pulse in his neck, thumping just under the moonlit skin. Not to mention Jared folded in half, his impossibly long legs gripping tight to Misha's shoulders. Misha knows what this is costing Jared, knows how his thighs and stomach must burn, how his arms and hands and cock must ache.

Misha presses a kiss to Jared's shin, the one place he can reach, to keep himself from saying, "I can't believe you're letting me do this." But Jared hums and, for one surreal moment, Misha has the wild idea that Jared can read his mind. Which is just ridiculous enough to make sense in Misha's hazy euphoria.

Repositioning his weight, bracing himself so there's just a barely-there pressure against Jared's cock, Misha starts circling his hips; tiny thrusts that have Jared moaning, eyes squeezed shut. Each time Misha pulls out, it's a little bit further and he slides in slower.

Jared is white hot around him; around his cock and around his body, skin sticky-slick and when he starts whispering, "I can't, I can't, oh _god_ , can't," Misha's heart breaks just that much more. He wants to touch Jared; smooth a palm over his forehead, lace their fingers together and feel their bones grind against each other, maybe kiss the corner of his mouth.

"You can," Misha says instead, voice thick. "You're this far already, just a little bit-- Nnngh, _Jared_." He leans down to bite at the tendon of Jared's neck, made prominent by the arch of Jared's hips and back, pressing their bellies together and causing himself to sob.

Misha speeds up. Can't _not_. He's close himself and Jared is...that he's held on for so long already is amazing. Breath-taking. Misha sets the rhythm with long, deep strokes, grinning each time Jared twitches, knowing he's hitting Jared's prostate.

Above them, the bed creaks. Misha looks up and the veins and tendons in Jared's wrists stand out in stark relief in the moonlight. He is holding on by a thread, one tiny, silken strand that Misha's finally ready to pluck.

"C'mon, Jared," he whispers, lowering himself so their bellies press together. "C'mon."

"Shit! Don't--" Jared starts, and he bites his lip, his whole body drawn taut to hold in his orgasm. "I can't. I _can't_." It sounds a little like begging.

"You can," Misha says, falling even further. Jared's legs keep slipping from his sweat-sheened shoulders, and Misha's arms are trembling from the strain of holding them both up. It's not like having a hand on his cock, Misha knows, but the pressure is firm and, with Jared so close, impossible to resist.

Jared arches, head thrown back on a soundless cry, and then Misha feels the sticky-wet heat between them, Jared clenching around him, incredibly tight. Misha's head drops and he comes, too, spilling thick into the condom in short, ragged bursts. When he's done, he collapses onto Jared, whose legs are still folded in half, and doesn't move.

It takes long, quiet minutes for Jared to settle; to calm his breathing and relax his grip and stop tensing around Misha enough for him to pull out, if not move much farther than that. Carefully, Misha sits up on shaky knees and lowers Jared's legs to the bed. They're still shivering, from the strain and from the lack of Misha's body heat, and he skims his palms over them in smooth, lazy strokes until he hears Jared sigh.

He removes the condom, ties it off, and tosses it in the general vicinity of the garbage can on the way to the bathroom. In the dark, he bounces off the door frame and laughs at himself, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes to clear them. He cleans himself off first with quick, efficient movements, then grabs another washcloth for Jared.

He is still splayed out on the bed, his stomach an insane mess of sweat and precome, his legs splayed wide and his arms folded above his head. His hands lie palm-up on the pillow, fingers twitching. Gently, Misha starts to clean him up, dabbing at his forehead first to get the sweat from his eyes, then his stomach and cock. Jared jerks sharply at the contact, so Misha lightens his touch even further, as much as he can while still being useful. It takes a second trip to the bathroom to rinse the cloth out, but Jared could use the time. And at least Misha isn't walking into any more walls.

Misha doesn't bother to look at the clock while he pulls at the sheets and blankets, trying to work around the two hundred pound moose in his bed. He tried to ask Jared to roll over to one side or the other, but he's barely conscious as he hums his reply, so Misha pushes and shoves him until he can get the sheets over Jared's splayed legs and climbs into bed himself.

They're still tacky from sweat and sore to boot, but Misha finds himself worming his way closer to Jared anyway. And just before he drifts off to sleep, he feels an arm land heavy around his waist.

: : :

The room is blindingly bright against Misha's closed eyes. It's hot, too. Hot and wet and...soft?

He tries to lift his hands to shield his eyes, but he finds them twisted in Jared's hair. And they're in Jared's hair because his cock is in Jared's mouth, hard and leaking.

"Jesus _fuck_ , Jared."

Jared looks up at Misha through the fan of his lashes and winks; sinks down onto Misha until his nose hits Misha's pelvis and he swallows.

"Ah! Shit, shit!" Misha's hips rise from the bed, despite Jared's broad hand pinning him on one side. The other is tucked between Misha's legs, brushing soft and wet along the perineum.

Misha tugs on his hair and starts hitching his hips, fucking into the plush, pink circle of Jared's lips. It's not going to take long for him to come. Jared's clever tongue strokes along the underside of his cock, dragging along the spine to swirl over the crown. His knuckle presses against his balls, rubbing against the soft, tight skin.

Misha comes with a shout when one of Jared's long fingers brushes against his hole. He tries to pull Jared off, but his fingers dig tight into Misha's skin and he keeps sucking until Misha's done, uses light swipes of his tongue to clean Misha off before letting him go.

Rising up on his knees like a Greek god come to life, Jared uses one hand to push the hair from his face while the other drops to his cock. It curves toward his belly, red and slick, and he starts stroking it, unashamed.

"C'mere," Misha murmurs, reaching for Jared. He slots his fingers in between Jared's and together it only takes a dozen tight strokes, with Misha thumbing at the slit, for Jared to come, spilling over Misha's stomach and hip. Spent, Jared falls back on his heels.

"Mornin'."

Misha looks at the clock, hand resting on Jared's thigh. "More like afternoon."

Jared shrugs and flashes him a lopsided smile. His free hand covers Misha's, his thumb stroking over the knuckles. His other traces circles in the sticky mess on Misha's skin. He seems mesmerized by the motion.

"Hey," Misha says, catching Jared's thumb between two knuckles. "You ok?"

Jared sits silent; then, with a shake of his head, he grins at Misha, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. "I'm great."

"You know, you're not supposed to be this together after a night like that." He squints at Jared, looking for any hint of dishonesty, but Jared is clear-eyed and loose. It isn't an act.

"Yeah, well." He looks at Misha's groin, drags one sticky finger along the groove of his hip. "You've been a toppy bastard lately. I just wanted some payback."

Misha doesn't point out that he'd only done what Jared asked for last night; Jared's tone is quiet, not accusatory. A shadow of a grin still plays at his lips. Misha reaches up to smooth back the fall of hair in Jared's eyes.

Jared takes a deep breath, about to say something, Misha thinks, when his stomach lets out a low growl. They both chuckle and Jared says, "Guess I should get cleaned up." He reaches over Misha to the nightstand, gripping Misha's shoulder with his other hand to steady himself, and stops short. Misha is too busy thumbing at his nipple to notice the weird look Jared is giving him, until Jared says, "What kind of dude doesn't have tissues by the bed?"

"Bottom drawer," Misha says, too busy with drawing dry circles on Jared's chest to realize what he's said.

Jared pulls up slow, something black and silver dangling from his fingers. Misha stares at it for a long minute, breathing deep, then looks up at Jared, whose eyes follow the pendulum swing of one leather cuff on the end of a shiny, silver chain.

"How come I've never seen these before?" Jared asks, a little less casually than he probably means to.

Misha lifts and drops one shoulder, eyes never leaving Jared's. "Family heirloom."

Jared sits back on his heels, the need for Kleenex forgotten, and smooths his thumb over the buttery-soft leather of the cuff hanging his fingers. Misha watches it, notes the contrast of black and silver against flawless, golden skin. He can't help himself from reaching out to grasp the dangling cuff.

He knows how to open them with his eyes closed and his hands (literally) tied behind his back, but he keeps the movements slow, giving Jared time to laugh it off, dig through the drawer again for the Kleenex, suggest they get a shower -- save some water -- before breakfast.

Jared doesn't, though. He's silent and still, except for his breathing, gaze locked on Misha's hands as he leans forward and fastens one cuff around Jared's wrist. The veins seem to throb under thin, pale skin, in time with Misha's own heartbeat, harder and harder with each step closer; the tongue through the buckle, the peg in the hole, cinching it tight but not overly so. When it's closed, Jared twists his fist back and forth, acclimating to the fit. He runs a fingertip underneath; it's snug, but there's some wiggle room there. Misha wonders if Jared would want it tighter.

"Perfect fit," Jared murmurs, finally peering up at Misha. Misha can see the questions in his eyes, and his snarky defense mechanism kicks in.

"All this time, I've been searching for the one who fits this glass slipper, and it was you all along." Misha's fingers drift over the inside of Jared's forearm, stopping as they cover the leather. He squeezes once.

"Ha ha." Jared drops his hand to the bed, Misha still clinging to his wrist, and makes no move to take the cuff off. "How come we've never used these before."

"Because these are not about sex." Misha feels too exposed with Jared leaning over him, so he sits up and leans back against the headboard. This puts more space between them, but Misha thinks that may be a good thing.

Jared frowns slightly. "Look, I know I'm from Texas, where missionary sex between a man and a woman is the only thing allowed, but..." he blows out a gust of air that flutters through a stray lock of hair. Misha seeks out the warmth of Jared's fingers and tangles them together.

"That's not what I'm saying," Misha sighs, rubbing his free hand over his face, thumb digging into the corners of his eyes. "You and me, we. We've always been about a quick fuck wherever -- _when_ ever -- time allows. This--" he motions at the cuffs, silver glinting bright in the light, "--is more than a quick fuck. This is taking your time. Trusting your partner." Misha trails off at the end, unsure what else to say. His eyes fall to his feet.

"Hey," Jared says, squeezing Misha's fingers. "Last night? The time before that? Those weren't just quick fucks." His voice is soft, his face earnest. A dimple peeks out from one cheek.

"I'm aware," Misha snipes, shooting Jared a glare.

Jared, gigantic puppy that he is, doesn't wither under the weight of it. He leans forward, instead, his hand light on Misha's hip. "Misha, I trust you. How do you not--" He shakes his head against a rueful grin.

Before he can continue, Misha surges up and kisses Jared, scratching fingernails through the downy hair at Jared's nape. Its only purpose is to shut Jared up, just for the moment. This isn't a discussion to be had while they're both still naked, Misha's cock twitching at the look of the cuff around Jared's wrist.

"Yeah, ok," Jared says, half-amused, and pulls away. His hand is hot on Misha's shoulder, fingers digging into his shoulder blade. "Shower, then breakfast, then talk." He arches his eyebrows at Misha, as if he's daring Misha to argue, and his fingers work to get the cuff off.

Misha slides out of bed and stretches, eager to get the upper hand back in this conversation. "My bedroom, my orders." He smacks Jared on the ass as he climbs out of bed, and says, "Last one to come has to make breakfast."

Jared, of course, is the winner. Goddamn youth.


End file.
